Zevran's Angel
by Miah The Storm Wolf
Summary: Title sucks. Arella Mahariel has become best friends with zevran, but when he is forced to care for her after an injury, will that frindship turn into something else? There will be assassin teasing, nug throwing, and possibly lighting Alistair on fire.
1. Injuries Are Not Fun

A/N: Ok, the codex only says so much about Dalish culture, so I'm basing a bunch of it on a mix of Celtic and Norse. Celtic because of their lifestyle, but Norse for their mythology (Fen'harel, Fenril, get it?) The name Arella for example is Gaelic (ancient Celtic language) for angel. Much of the storyline I'm basing off the idea that Zevran will still eventually give the character his earring, even if she doesn't sleep with him immediately. (Yes this is possible.)

Zevran's Angel

Arella groggily lifted her head. That last hit had left her vision blurry, but what she saw through the haze made her forget all the injuries she acquired earlier in the battle. An ogre had a firm grip on her best friend, about to slam his head into the ground. Even an assassin wouldn't survive that kind of blow. "Z!" she shouted as she unsteadily jumped to her feet. Willing her body to move past its limits, she leapt onto the creature's back. She hit it in the back of the head with her shield twice to draw its attention away from the elf in its hand. She waited until it looked up to jab her sword down, straight through its face. The ogre went limp, dropping its unconscious prey in the process. The creature began to tip backward, forcing the warrior on its back to jump off lest she be crushed. Despite turning her landing into a tucked roll she still felt the snap of torn tendons as she hit the ground. "Oghren! Cut that damn thing's head off. I want to make sure it's dead," she ordered, remembering what her codex said about ogres on the battlefield.

"Sure thing boss lady," the dwarf replied before bringing his massive greatsword down on the creature's neck, severing the head completely. Of course he'd be the one to have absolutely no qualms about being covered in blood.

"I _hate_ ogres," she muttered to herself as she limped towards Zevran. He was just waking up when she stood in front of him and asked, "You okay?"

"As okay as one with a possible concussion can be I suppose." he replied with his usual smirk in place.

However this did not seem to affect the Dalish warrior before him, for she merely replied, "Good," before falling face-first into the dirt, unconscious.

When she next awoke, she was being carried piggyback style. By something that smelled good, she noted. She took a deeper breath to get more of the scent, causing the smell-good thing to notice her awakened state. "Ah, so my dear warden you are awake now, yes?"

"I can…" She started to say, 'I can walk,' but she realized with her injury that wasn't entirely true.

"You can? You can what?" Zevran pressed.

She let out a deep sigh, "I can't feel my foot." It may have been a cover-up, but that didn't stop it from being true. Her foot really had gone numb.

"Ah, that might be because Morrigan froze it about ten minutes ago," he replied with a chuckle.

"Huh?" She looked down at her ankle. A block of ice encompassed it from the bottom of her calf to the top of her heel. She gave it an experimental wiggle. At least she could still move.

"From what I recall she said it was to reduce the swelling, but I think it was because you were in pain."

"'Tis only half true," Morrigan had an uncanny ability to appear whenever someone was speaking of her. "Yes, you appeared to be in pain, but I only froze it at the insistence of the elf that we 'Do something'."

"That true Z?"

To his credit, he only faltered a moment, too small to be noticed if she hadn't been watching for it. He covered it up by shifting her weight higher on his back. "Of course, we cannot allow our fearless leader to become permanently injured. Then who would lead us into battle? Alistair?"

Morrigan gave a rather unladylike snort, "That simpering fool? He would sooner let the dog lead than take charge himself."

"Or perhaps our drunk smelly friend, no? What do you say my dwarven compatriot? Would you lead us valiantly into battle, banners flying, and trumpets playing?" Oghren just belched in response.

Arella, on the other hand, wasn't even listening to their antics. She was too focused on a patch of red just behind Zevran's ears. 'Is that a _blush_?' she thought incredulously. While most people blush along their cheeks, it has been known for show up elsewhere on others. Some blush on their neck, Alistair only blushed on the tops of his ears, and apparently Zevran blushed behind his. Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it was the head injury. Or maybe she was just plain crazy, but whatever the reason, she decided to point it out to him. She leaned close to his ear so that only he could hear her. "Your bluuush-iiing," she said in a sing-song voice. "No wonder everyone thinks you never get embarrassed. They just can't see cuz it's behind your ears."

"You know I could just drop you right now," he replied in a warning tone.

"You could," she paused and let out a long yawn, "but you won't." Whatever he may have said to that is unknown. She had fallen asleep and remained so all the way back to camp.


	2. Five Weeks!

A/N: Okay way too many of you liked the idea of lighting Alistair on fire. I honestly made that up spur of the moment trying to think of a third funny thing for the summary. Regardless, I will try to include it somewhere. Now for a vote and then review replies. First off, I want to know exactly how close to the dialogue you want me to stick. I have several conversation ideas, a couple of which revolve around Zev and Ari (like the nickname? It's pronounced are-ee) having met when they were children, and another regarding the werewolf thing. I want to give her an attitude that's not even presented in the game. Now for review replies:

Avaraen – yes Alistair on fire. Everyone seems to like that.

Melisimo - …. Oh. My. God. You… you're the author of Merciful Blood. OMG, OMG, OMFG, Melismo likes my fic! Squee! Seriously, Merciful Blood, BEYOND AWEOME!

AerisSerris – Glad you believed me about the blush. The others just brushed it off or thought it was too ooc.

Ladybird – while I realize your comment was probably meant as constructive criticism, you must also realize that Arella is suffering from multiple wounds and a severe blow to the head. She's not in any state to even think about what she's saying, let alone be using proper grammar. If it's a spelling issue, well, "…'cause…" just doesn't look right to me. Besides, "cuz" displays her giggling frame of mind a little better.

Hunter.48 – Yes, it would be an adorable sight. Makes me wish I could draw it.

Aeris1172 – I'm not sure why there's not much written for him. Typically the broken lecher like him has more of a following. I mean, look at Miroku from Inuyasha.

And lastly, but certainly not leastly: Wildfly – This is an absolute first. No one has ever before added me to an author alert list. Thank you so much. You have no idea what that means to me.

Related quote for this chapter: "The art of love… is largely the art of persistence." – Albert Ellis.

Chapter 2: _Five Weeks?!_

Arella was having a nice dream for once, one that didn't involve darkspawn or, even worse, puppets. This was probably because it was less of a dream and more of a memory. She was dreaming about when she first met Zevran.

The fight was actually rather easy. The only thing that made it frustrating is that Leliana didn't want to listen to orders. ("No, don't shoot them! Get the traps!" "Damn it Lels! Traps first, fight later!") However, the frustration was chased away by sheer terror when one of the "corpses" groaned. She jumped and gave a very un-wardenly yelp. "I think this one's still alive," Leliana had said. Arella, hiding her embarrassment behind a mask of anger, began interrogating him.

Upon his introduction of, "My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends," she couldn't help but interrupt by speaking her mind.

"You have friends?" she asked with a hint of a scoff. There was something about this man that seemed so familiar. It was starting to irritate her that she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Well, I suppose not, but I imagine that is what they would call me if I did." He continued explaining how he was an Antivan Crow, a name that meant nothing to her, but plenty to Leliana and Wynne apparently, and how Loghain hired him. Then he went on to propose an alliance.

"You must think I'm royally stupid." (She realized much later that this was, in a roundabout way, a stab at Alistair.)

"I think you are royally tough to kill. Besides there are worse things in life than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess." Drake, the dog, chose this moment to voice his disapproval with a menacing growl.

"Calm down, Drake," she ordered before continuing with, "Besides, one has to have had sex in order to be a sex goddess." The assassin made an odd choking noise and she could have sworn he stopped breathing for a second. "All right. You're in. Be warned, though, the first time you piss me off, you're getting your face shoved into the ground."

Suddenly Wynne began speaking. "I'm sorry dear, but you need to wake up." Everything started fading black. Realizing that she had been dreaming, Arella set about the arduous task of returning herself to consciousness.

It took a moment, but she managed to rouse enough to see Wynne and Zevran hovering over her. "Hi, Z. Wynne, you wanted me to wake up for something?"

"Yes. Here, drink this." She gave Arella a bottle of milky looking liquid. The Dalish drank it with a look that clearly showed how bitter it tasted. "You have suffered a massive head injury. That caffeine mix I just gave you will keep you awake. If you fall asleep again you could go into a coma from the damage to your brain. I healed the skull, but we mages don't like doing anything with the brain. One misstep could turn you into a drooling vegetable."

Arella winced. "Great, anything else I should know?"

"The damage to your ankle was minimal. My magic will hold the tendon in place, but it needs to grow and reattach on it's own. Until then, keep strain off it as much as possible. The process should take four or five weeks."

"Five weeks?!"

Wynne raised an eyebrow at her outburst. "If you'd like, I could remove the bonding and let it heal naturally. That would take between six to eight weeks with no guarantee that it will mend straight."

She gave a frustrated sigh. "No, no, I didn't mean to insult you. It's just… how am I supposed to walk? To fight?"

"I suggest you brush up on the archery skills for which you Dalish hunters are so famous. As for walking, Zevran seems more than willing to allow you to lean on him." Arella caught the disapproval in her tone. She had told Wynne time and again that she and Zevran were just really close friends, but the mage refused to believe her.

"Well then it's settled. For now I shall be your own personal crutch." He seemed a little too happy about the whole ordeal, so Arella decided to punish him a little bit.

"Actually, I'm going to need help with lots of other things too, like staying awake, getting food, and taking care of Drake. That's where you come in, Z."

"Well, I…"

"When we first met, you said you'd serve my whims. Consider this my first one."

"Actually I said I'd serve the whims of a deadly sex goddess, which you denied being," He had her there. For a terrifying moment she thought he'd refuse. "But I do owe you my life. I shall do as you wish."

"I'll leave you two to your business then." It was a congenial phrase, but the tone was terse and clearly unhappy.

They both watched Wynne go. It was a long silence before Arella spoke. "I have no idea why she's so upset with me. I didn't do anything wrong."

"I think," Zevran began, "that the problem is not with you, but with me."

"Care to explain that little bit of insight?"

"You were injured saving me, yes? I believe she does not understand why you continue to keep my company, especially since believes me responsible for your current condition." Arella was about to argue that no one could have known she'd hurt herself when he continued speaking, "And I am of the same mind. You wouldn't have gotten hurt if I hadn't been so careless."

She was shocked. They were close, yes, but she had never heard anything so sentimental from him before. Just as she opened her mouth to say something comforting he returned to his old self, "Besides, you are in no condition to be bedded. I must hurry and make you better if I am to convince you to spend the night in my tent." This was an ongoing joke between them. Everyday he would make some sort of innuendo as to her sleeping with him and everyday she would find a clever new way to shoot him down. It was their very own special brand of witty banter and the highlight of their friendship.

She smirked, "Well if that's the case maybe I should keep getting injured. I get served hand over foot and it gets you off my back."

"Ah my dear warden, if I were actually on your back, you would not be complaining nearly as much."

Her look turned dark. Surprisingly it was not the implication that bothered her. "I don't like it when you call me that."

"What? Why? It is what you are. Are you not?"

"It's a _label_. How would you like it if I went around calling 'Hey assassin!' whenever I wanted your attention? Like you, I have a _name_. I'd prefer you use it."

"Yes, well, the name Arella brings things to mind that I'd rather not remember. Besides it is a little long. Three syllables you know."

She knew it was more than he was letting on, but decided not to press him. After all, their conversations were all about her inserting the right comments at just the right time, so that when he finally revealed what he was really thinking, he would believe it to be his own choice. It was subtle, manipulative even, quite unlike her importunate manner with the others, but she had a suspicion he knew what she was doing and was just humoring her. "Ari works too. It's what the other hunters call me."

"That is just as bad."

"Well I'm not changing my name. It Dalish for angel and I like it."

"Angel."

She thought he was asking a question. "Yes, angel. I just told you that."

He shook his head. "No, _Angel_. It is perfect. From now on you shall be Angel."

She rolled her eyes and then yawned. "Well this particular angel doesn't have wings. Mind helping me to my tent?"

"Do I get to come in afterward?"

"Maybe if you're a good boy," she said in a motherly sweet voice.

"But what if I want to be _bad_?"

She deadpanned, "No."

He gave an exaggerated deep sigh, "Very well, if you insist." He picked her up bridal style, which she clearly was not expecting if the loud "meep" she gave was any indication, and carried her to her "tent." It was really just an old lean-to they found with a canvas thrown over the opening.

He deposited her on the bedroll, but when he turned to leave, she called out to him. "Zevran, wait!" It was unusual for her to call him by his full name, so he stopped and waited for her to continue. She looked abashed and uncomfortable. "Caffeine… gives me nightmares. I don't like waking up alone after them. Could you… could you stay? For a while at least?"

His smirk softened to something resembling a genuine smile. Not even he would ruin this moment with a joke, so he merely replied, "Of course."

As he lay down next to her, propped up on one arm, she rolled over and snuggled next to him, her nose in the crook of his neck. He was so surprised that he almost missed her telling him goodnight. "Night, Z."

"Goodnight my Angel."

"Hey, Z. You smell like cinnamon."


	3. Like Home, but Not Really

A/N: I'm sorry my friends, but I'm losing interest now. You see, while I was outlining the third chapter I decided to take a break and post the first two to deviantart. Not an hour later I received a message that someone had added it to his collection; a collection labeled "Retarded Bullshit." I was mortified. I immediately deleted it so that no one browsing that collection would find one of MY works. That little escapade left me extremely disheartened and unwilling to write. Ergo, this may be the last post for some time, until I can find inspiration and encouragement again. On a happier note, anyone who wants to see a photo of Arella's tattoo should pm me with an email to send it to. Yes, that's _my_ belly in the photo. No, it's not a real tattoo. I drew it in gel ink. Here are the reviews to reply to this time.

Melisimo – uh, I think you have the wrong fic.

Daerana – let's put it to a vote. All in favor of "Z" as Zevran's nickname and all in favor of changing it to the standard "Zev" need to tell me in a review.

TheWastelander – I already gave you your tip, but please keep reviewing.

Shousie – Dwarf toss you say? I hadn't thought of that. We'll see if I can work it in.

NuitNuit – That's a recurring nightmare with me. The marionettes keep trying to eat me. *shudder*

Hunter.48 – Glad you liked the idea. I really haven't seen it done yet with Zev. I have with Alistair, but not Zevran.

Avaraen – That's what I was thinking when I started writing this. I used to skip over those parts whenever I'd run across them in a story.

Chapter Three: Like Home, but Not Really

Related quote for the chapter: "Home is not a place. It is people who care."

– George Moore.

Arella heard them before she saw them. Rapid footfalls like a halla's racing heart caring little for what they landed on or how much noise they made. 'Three humans running through a forest; odd.' They passed under the tree branch on which she was perched. Tamlen nodded to her from the ground, indicating that he would intercept them. She leapt down, silently cursing his hatred of humans. By the time she made it to her partner's side, he had already confronted the cowering men and frightened them further with a death threat.

"Don't kill them. That will only bring more trouble," she knew logic would have more effect on him than compassion.

"Why? So they can bring back more shems?"

"Hey now, we don't mean any trouble." She knew that already. They were running away from something, not toward the Dalish camp. "...We have treasure to prove it." She missed what they said in between.

"Let me see that." She rolled her eyes at his enthusiasm. They didn't know how lucky they were to have stumbled on Tamlen's one weakness: history. Despite his fascination with the rune and the possible threat of a demon, he still wanted to kill them. "What do you think Lethallin?"

"I think you've scared them enough."

"How can you say that? They might be bandits!"

"You saw for yourself. They were running as though Elgar'nan himself were at their heels," She stepped between Tamlen's raised bow and the villagers, "No, I will not be responsible for the deaths of terrified innocents."

Tamlen hung his head, bow still drawn. She thought he had relented, but then she watched with horror as his skin turned grey, his nails turned to talons, and when he raised his head back up, his eyes had turned an evil shade of yellow. He grinned revealing brown jaggedly pointed teeth, darkspawn teeth. "Then you die with them," he giggled madly as he released the arrow…

Arella woke up, biting back a gasp at the last second, but remained curled on her side. She was safe and warm. The tent smelled like cinnamon. The overall effect reminded her of the snickerdoodles (as her adoptive mother, Ashalle, called them since neither could pronounce their Antivan name) she had when her clan visited Antivia. It had an instant calming effect.

"Good morning, Angel," Zevran looked as though had been awake for a while just waiting for the chance to say that.

She performed a languid stretch, mostly to shake off the lingering fear from her dream. The movement reminded him of a cat. "Morning, Z," she paused a moment, looking as though she just realized something. "Did I sleep in my armor again?"

"Yes, as did I, but I don't think yours really counts as armor anymore," he replied. The studded leather set was missing most of its rivets and also bore tears along several joints including the shoulders, elbows, and knees.

She flopped back down on the bedroll. "Well crap," she rolled over to face him before continuing, "You know what I miss? Dalish leather. Much more comfortable than this Ferelden stuff and it doesn't smell as bad as Antivan. No offense."

"None taken. I am well aware Antivan leather smells like rotting flesh." When he said that he seemed a little wistful to Arella, but before she could comment he continued, "It's still better than the wet dog smell that seems to permeate your Ferelden air."

What she said next surprised him. "Tell me about it. Believe it or not, I'm not actually a big fan of dogs. I much prefer wolves. They're cleaner, stealthier, and frighten enemies more easily, but battle wolves are a lot harder to control than war dogs. That's why no one really breeds them anymore." She struggled to get up without putting any weight on her ankle. "Give me a hand will you?" He began clapping. She rolled her eyes. "Smartass. Now help me get up."

"As you command, my Angel." He pulled her to her feet and put an arm around he waist to keep her steady as he led her out to the fire pit. What he saw at the pit made him uneasy, but luckily he didn't have to say anything because Arella did it for him.

"Alistair, I thought we all agreed that Lels and I would do the cooking from now on."

He stopped just short of putting a whole side of lamb in the pot, bone and all. "But you're hurt! I just thought I'd help by taking your turn for you." He sounded like a kicked puppy towards the end, but Arella knew better than to fall for that.

"No."

"But…"

"_No_."

"I just…"

"Alistair, _no_ means _no_. That's final. Now you go gather any damaged armor we have and let someone else take over the meal."

It was about that time Wynne walked over and said, "You'd best do as she says, Alistair. I'll take care of breakfast." Alistair walked away grumbling something about menial tasks and never getting to fight either. After he was out of earshot, Wynne turned to Arella and asked, "How is your head today?"

"Much better thank you." Arella and Zevran settled next to one another in front of the fire as Leliana joined them.

Wynne went about gleaning meat from the lamb ribs as she spoke, "Just make sure to tell anyone if you start feeling dizzy or nauseous. Is sheep bacon alright with everyone for breakfast?"

Sten had joined them by this point. "Pasherra, more mutton? We have eaten it everyday since we saw those bandits kill that farmer and his livestock."

Arella fixed him with a tired glare. She was not known for having the best temper and had become sick of his complaining over every single choice she made. In the coldest tone she could muster, she said, "This was the only one that wasn't poisoned. To leave any part of an animal to simply rot goes against my beliefs and yours as well if I'm not mistaken."

He looked ashamed, but only for a moment. "At least I do not jeopardize our mission by stopping to aid every pitiful creature that catches my attention."

"What do you expect me to do, fight my way through an entire horde of darkspawn and defeat the archdemon with only _six_ _warriors_? Nothing short of an army stands a chance. With every person I help, it adds at least one more soldier to our cause. We need their support," she finished with a growl.

Leliana saw what was happening and decided to intervene before they attacked each other _again_. "So where are we going now? We've already recruited the dwarves and the mages."

Glad for the neutral topic, Arella answered honestly, "I was thinking about that yesterday. It's about the time that Valendrian's clan should be back in the Brecelian Forest. He's a legend among the Dalish and the only hahren whose clan stays in one place for any length of time."

There was a murmur of ascension from the fighters present. Even Sten agreed. "Then our course is laid before us. We go to this forest and find the Dalish," Zevran commented brightly.

Two hours later found Arella (newly equipped with a bow), Drake, Zevran, and Leliana heading west along the Imperial Highway. It was, thankfully, an uneventful trip, but the quiet invited Leliana to ask questions. "Why is this Valerian such a legend? I am a bard and have heard many tales, so why have I not heard of him?"

"First, it's Valendrian. Valerian is a plant. Second, I said, 'He is a legend _among the Dalish_.' I doubt any human is allowed to know about him, but back to your original question. He's a legend because he's over 500 years old. Most believe him a hero who has rediscovered our ancestors' immortality…" she trailed off with a dark look in her eye.

Zevran recognized it as a look of deep mistrust. "I take it you do not agree."

"He has been asked many times by many clans how to restore our people's longevity, but he refuses to answer. What kind of Dalish denies access to knowledge that was ours to begin with? No one. Which leads me to believe that he gets his immortality from magic, possible even from dark arts."

Not sure what to say to that, both Zevran and Leliana let the subject drop, leaving the rest of the journey to be travelled in silence.

Miah: Yeah, I don't feel like finishing this right now. Arella's tattoo will come into play next chapter when she switches into Dalish armor, (Gotta love how even though it's one of the best light armors, it doesn't cover much) but you can still message me to get a sneak preview so to speak.


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